


I’ve Had No Love Like Your Love

by stevesnosebump



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, the real stars of the show are the italics tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevesnosebump/pseuds/stevesnosebump
Summary: Bucky doesn’t mind taking care of Steve when he gets sick.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 76





	I’ve Had No Love Like Your Love

**Author's Note:**

> carol (aka stevebuckiest here on ao3:) ) was kind enough to share their headcanon of Bucky sneaking medicine into Steve’s food when he’s sick and I just had to include it in a fic immediately but of course I got carried away.  
> title is from “Nobody” by Hozier yes <3
> 
> ps this fic is probably a bit historically inaccurate but the research i did was kinda confusing so....i tried...

“How you holding up, buddy?” the question is asked gently as Bucky takes off his scarf and winter coat. It’s a brutally cold Saturday evening in mid-January, Bucky just now getting home from work down at the docks. 

Steve is on the couch, his preferred spot to lie when he’s sick and waiting for Bucky to come home from work. His nose is red and runny, and his face is glistening with sweat although he’s shivering beneath his pile of blankets. 

“‘M fine, Buck,” he rasps. 

Bucky frowns at him then, knows that Steve is lying so he won’t worry about his condition every time he turns his back. When he notices the contrast between Steve’s sweaty face and the huddle of blankets, he swears under his breath and grabs the thermometer. “Open up.”

For once in his life, Steve obeys. His eyelids feel heavy, but he keeps his eyes open just for Bucky. Whether it’s to convince him that he’s perfectly fine or for the selfish reason of wanting to see his pretty face, Steve isn’t too sure. 

“Not lookin’ good,” the thermometer shows an even higher temperature than when Bucky had left for work—not a good sign, considering that Steve’s tiny fever that morning was enough to make Bucky consider staying home with him. “Get any higher and we’ll have to take you to the doctor.”

Steve groans, pulling the blankets up so they reach his chin. 

“Can we even afford a doctor right now?” 

Bucky huffs and plops down on the couch when Steve pulls his legs up so his feet are out of the way. He hates that Steve even has to ask, but it’s a damn good question. He smiles at Steve despite the grim question, not wanting to worry him any, and tells him, “sure we can.” It wouldn’t be ideal, considering that they’re pretty low on money right now, but if it’s truly necessary, Bucky will haul him straight to the doctor with his last dollar.

They sit in silence for a moment, Bucky calculating the cost of a doctor’s visit and medicine, and Steve fighting the urge to fall asleep. His lungs rattle every time he breathes, which just makes Bucky nervous—it’s _bad_ this time, and the fact that their shitty apartment has even shittier heating probably isn’t helpful in the slightest. 

“You want some soup? Might warm you up.” 

“Yes, please,” Steve rasps. 

A cacophony of dry coughs echoes through the apartment as Bucky cooks. The sound makes him wince—the cough is so dry, it sounds painful. 

When the coughing continues, Bucky abandons the soup and grabs the cough syrup and a teaspoon. 

He rushes to the living room and, when he sees how much Steve’s body is shaking from the force of the coughs, he makes quick work of unscrewing the cap. 

“Just take some of this and that nasty cough’ll get better in no time,” he pours the medicine on the spoon, doing his best to keep his hands steady so it won’t spill all over the floor. 

Steve is trying to tell Bucky he’s fine, even as the coughs continue to violently rip through his body. 

Although begrudgingly, he lets Bucky feed him two teaspoons of cough syrup. He grunts when the taste reaches his tongue, but he kindly thanks Bucky after he swallows. He appreciates that Bucky cares enough to look after him like this, even if he hates being babied. 

Satisfied now that Steve has taken medicine, Bucky goes back to the kitchen to finish cooking the soup. 

Steve still coughs intermittently, but Bucky isn’t as worried now. He finishes fixing the soup, humming to himself as he pours it in a bowl and delivers it to Steve. 

He’s met with a tight-lipped smile as Steve reaches out to accept the bowl from his hands. 

That’s when Bucky sees the blood. 

It’s splattered on the sleeve of his sweater and his hand, making it obvious that he had coughed it up during his earlier fit. 

“Get up, you’re going to the doctor. Right now.”

“Buck, I’m—“

“Don’t you dare even try to tell me you’re fine. Get up,” he snaps, placing the bowl on the table before snatching the blankets off Steve and throwing them to the floor. 

He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, but he’s scared now that Steve’s coughing up _blood._ He can feel the adrenaline pumping through him and he’s completely panicked, now, but he has to stay calm and focus on getting Steve to a professional. 

——  
He sits in the room with Steve, doing his best not to act hysterically as the doctor is administering the routine exams to ensure a proper diagnosis. He taps his foot loudly—which the doctor eventually has to ask him to stop doing as it’s “quite distracting”—and doesn’t take his eyes off Steve once. 

“It’s pneumonia,” the doctor declares, taking off his stethoscope. 

“Pneumonia?” Bucky’s eyes are practically bulging out of his head. He starts to panic again, feels like the room is closing in on him and he can hardly breathe.

“Yes, but, do not fear,” the doctor scribbles a few notes on the paper in Steve’s file. “I’m quite good at my job.”

When the doctor grins at him, Bucky tries to reciprocate, but his face feels like stone, completely immovable. 

Steve lets out a raspy breath, one that is so disturbing it makes Bucky feel guilty for shifting the doctor’s focus. He quickly greenlights whatever treatment the doctor wants to give Steve. He just wants Steve to make it through this. 

The doctor asks Steve to take his coat off and roll his sleeve up so he can give him a shot, some sort of serum being utilized as a cure. Steve obeys, and Bucky watches intently as the needle disappears into his arm. 

He makes casual conversation as he works on Steve, but Bucky doesn’t listen again until the doctor is describing how often the pills he’s prescribing should be taken and how it’s _of the greatest importance_ to his recovery that Steve take the medicine _faithfully._

That line makes him perk up, since he knows how much Steve hates having to take medicine. “Did you hear that, Stevie?” Bucky’s tone is stern, his eyebrows furrowed so tightly, a crease forms in the middle. 

“Uh huh.” 

“And are you going to follow his instructions?” 

“Uh huh.” 

They hold a silent staring contest for a while, leaving the doctor to look back and forth between the two of them in bewilderment. Bucky is victorious when Steve finally looks down at his shoes instead. 

Bucky stands and grasps the doctor’s hand into a firm handshake. “Thank you for seeing us.” 

The doctor nods, responds with a polite “you’re welcome,” and shows them out. 

When they’re on the sidewalk again, they both immediately feel how much the temperature has cooled now that it’s nearing sunset. The second Steve shivers, Bucky is taking off his jacket and wrapping it around Steve, rubbing his arms a bit in an effort to warm him up quickly. 

“I already have a coat. You need yours, it’s cold, Buck, c’mon,” Steve reaches to take the jacket off his shoulders, but Bucky firmly places his hands on his shoulders, preventing him from doing so, and shushes him. 

“I’ll be fine. Let’s get you home.” 

Steve wants to argue, wants to take the coat off and give it right back, but he knows he’ll lose that fight, so he accepts his fate as damsel-in-distress and allows Bucky to lead him home with a hand on his lower back. 

——  
They eat dinner quietly that night, Steve insistent on eating the soup Bucky had prepared him earlier, and Bucky eating leftovers found in the fridge. 

It’s not an uncomfortable quiet, just a reflective one, the kind that falls when two people know each other well enough to understand that they don’t always need to fill the silence with meaningless conversation. 

The moment Steve coughs, he has Bucky’s full attention. 

“What?”

“You alright?” He raises an inquisitive eyebrow and tilts his head. 

“Yeah, fine,” Steve grumbles, taking a sip of water in hopes of soothing his throat. 

“Gotta start taking those pills tomorrow,” Bucky reminds him, bringing the fork up to his mouth, still maintaining eye contact. 

“I know. I will.” 

“Know you don’t like taking medicine, but you gotta. This is serious,” Bucky’s expression is eerily grim. It’s what makes Steve realize that this is real, he has _pneumonia_. It shouldn’t be unsettling to him, he seems to always be ill with something, but now that Bucky looks worried, the realization of how serious it is sends a shiver down his spine. 

Steve puts his spoon down and opts to pick up his bowl with both hands, hurriedly slurping it down before he gets up and places it in the sink. He goes to their shared bedroom, leaving Bucky to finish his dinner alone. 

Having seen the look on his face before he left the room, Bucky doesn’t follow him or try calling his name. He decides to allow Steve to sit alone, to reflect, for as long as necessary. He takes his time finishing his meal, and when he’s done, he washes the dishes. Unsure of whether he should continue to give Steve his space or go check on him, Bucky opts to stay in the kitchen and tidies it up a bit. 

He almost misses the soft voice calling his name as he’s scrubbing the countertops. “Stevie? You need me?” he calls back. 

“Just wanna show you something.” 

He releases a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. “Okay, I’m coming.” 

As soon as he enters the room, a paper—ripped from Steve’s sketchbook—is handed to him. 

“It’s you,” Steve explains, voice soft. Bucky takes a moment to take Steve in: he’s changed into a pair of pajamas that are comfortable but warm, and his hair is a bit messier than it was at dinner. He finally looks down at the paper in his hand when he realizes Steve is looking at him expectantly. 

“It sure is,” Bucky responds, voice nearly a whisper. 

He’s amazed by the drawing—he’s always amazed by Steve’s art, but this one was done impressively quickly and it’s still practically flawless—not that he knows a lot about art, but he has eyes, after all. Besides being gorgeous, it’s almost breathtakingly accurate too—Steve made sure to accent the dimple in Bucky’s chin, and to shape the eyebrows just right. He’s seen Steve’s drawings before, knows that he’s very talented, but he’s never seen a drawing of himself before, by Steve or anyone, so he’s completely fascinated by it. 

“I don’t know, just wanted to draw something. You were the first thing that came to mind,” Steve shrugs, as though it’s not important. 

It makes Bucky’s heart swell with... _something,_ makes him feel so fortunate to know someone as pure of heart as Steve. 

“Thank you. I love it.” 

Steve has drawn Bucky plenty of times before, so that muscle memory—combined with the fact that he has all the features of Bucky’s face memorized in his mind—was what made it so easy for him to draw the sketch so quickly. He’s never shown Bucky the pictures he draws of him, though, so of course Bucky is impressed by how accurate it is. He’d been expecting his muse to be impressed, but he’s overcome with embarrassment when Bucky won’t stop staring at the sketch, eyes wide and mouth agape. 

“It’s just a little something,” Steve mumbles, cheeks turning pink. 

“Don’t be so modest. This is incredible.” 

Steve tells him he can keep it, and Bucky tucks it into the journal he keeps in the drawer of his nightstand. “For safekeeping,” he explains. “Want it close.”

Bucky eyes the clock when he hears Steve yawn. It isn’t too late, but Steve probably needs extra rest so his body can recover. His voice is soft when he says, “get some sleep,” and he turns to leave the room. He’s stopped by Steve’s hand grabbing his wrist—not aggressively, just enough to get his attention. 

“Why are you leaving?” 

“Don’t think I’m ready to sleep yet.” 

“Just lie down for a moment, please. You can leave if you really can’t sleep, but at least lie down.” 

“Alright, alright. That’s fair. Let me brush my teeth though, yeah? Then I’ll come join you.” 

Steve nods in agreement and lets go of Bucky’s wrist. He fights the urge to lie down and sleep, instead opting to keep sitting up so he can ensure that Bucky keeps his promise. 

He does. Bucky’s back in the room, just as he promised. Steve lies down when he sees him walk in, expecting Bucky to climb right into bed. When he doesn’t, Steve sits up again and casts a curious glance his way. 

“Gotta change first.” 

“Oh.” 

“Give me a moment. I’ll be ready soon,” he grabs his pajamas out the dresser, his back to Steve. 

Steve’s expecting him to leave the room so he can have some privacy, so he’s surprised when Bucky begins to change right where he’s standing. A choked noise leaves his throat. 

“You okay?” Bucky questions, looking over his shoulder to make eye contact as if his pants aren’t around his ankles. 

“Fine,” Steve gasps out, averting his gaze so Bucky won’t know he was staring. 

Bucky tugs his pants off his ankles and pulls the pajama pants up his legs. Steve keeps his eyes on the blanket covering his legs, only knows Bucky is still changing from the sound of shuffling. 

He doesn’t look up again until he hears Bucky grunt. “What?” 

“Thought I grabbed my shirt. I didn’t, and it’s not in the drawer,” he turns so he’s facing Steve again, and Steve has to bite his tongue to keep from swearing. 

Bucky looks _glorious_ , almost like a Greek god in Steve’s eyes—he’s muscular but not firm, chest sprinkled with hair that Steve wants to run his hands through. He can’t help imagining that body on top of him, his hands grabbing at the biceps or shoulders or running down his slightly muscular back. 

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear what Bucky says to him until he calls his name.

“Steve!” 

Steve blinks out of his trance to find Bucky staring at him, hands on his hips. “Huh?” 

“I asked if you’ve seen my shirt. I don’t know where I could’ve put it.” 

“Oh,” Steve shifts a little, tries looking around so he can at least seem helpful. “No, I don’t know where it is.” 

Bucky clicks his tongue. “Need to find it,  
I’m cold....oh! I see it,” he walks to his side of the bed and grabs the shirt from underneath. “Must’ve dropped it when I was putting the clothes away.”

Steve smiles, mumbles some nonsense about how he’s glad Bucky found his shirt, and then he lies down properly, eager to get some sleep so he won’t have to confront his earlier thoughts. 

Once Bucky gets his shirt on, he climbs into bed with Steve, tells him goodnight, and turns the lamp off. 

They’re silent for a while, Steve not yet asleep but trying to will himself there. His concentration is broken by Bucky’s voice saying his name. 

“Yeah?” 

“Why’re you so far away?” 

“Am I?” Steve asks, shoulders tensing. 

“Yeah,” Bucky pulls him closer, so Steve is no longer practically hugging the edge of the bed. “That’s better.” 

Steve has no reason to feel nervous about it. There’s still plenty of space left between them, it’s not like they’re touching now. Still, it makes his stomach churn. He tries to ignore it, tries to focus on the quiet of the room and will himself to sleep. 

He only realizes how long he’s been lying awake when he hears Bucky’s steady breathing, a clear sign that he’s fast asleep. He tries to sync his breaths to Bucky’s, and eventually it lulls him to sleep.

——  
He wakes up to Bucky’s hand on his forehead, trying to gauge his temperature. When Bucky sees that he’s awake, he hands Steve the thermometer, explaining that he looks feverish. 

Bucky frowns when he sees the temperature on the thermometer, indicating that Steve has a fever. 

“Are you cold or hot?” 

“Cold,” Steve pulls the blanket up to his chin. 

“Ok. You want soup again?” 

“What time is it?” Steve tries to sit up, but Bucky gently pushes him back down. 

“Half past noon. Don’t worry about it.”

“Noon? Shouldn’t you be at work?” 

“It’s Sunday. Don’t have work today.” 

A nasty coughing fit tears through Steve’s body, making Bucky wince at the dryness of the cough. 

“I’ll bring you some soup and a glass of water,” Bucky tells him when the fit ends. Steve rasps out a quiet thank you and lies back down, head aching from the tension of coughing so hard. 

He’s in a daze when Bucky returns, brain hazy from pain and the feeling of being overwhelmingly ill. He’s been sick before, especially in the brutally cold winters, but he can’t remember the last time an illness has made him feel this awful. 

Bucky encourages him to sit up and take a few sips of water, tries to gently remind him that he can take his medicine in the evening and it’ll be alright. Steve struggles to hold the glass on his own, forcing Bucky to help hold it to his lips. He tries to assure Bucky he’ll be fine, can eat the soup on his own, but Bucky insists on sitting on the bed and spoon-feeding him between coos and gentle reminders of “I’ve got you, you’ll be alright.” 

The spoon clatters into the empty bowl where Bucky drops it once Steve has finished. He smiles when Steve stretches his arms and legs, clearly content from having a stomach full of warm soup. 

He stands to take the dish back to the kitchen, stopping to ask if there’s anything he could do for Steve when he comes back, and feels like his heart might explode when Steve gently asks if Bucky could read to him. 

He agrees without a moment of hesitation, and once he returns from the kitchen he grabs the book off his nightstand and lies down in bed next to Steve. Since it’s his book that he’s been reading on his own, he has to get Steve caught up before he can turn to the bookmarked page and begin reading. Steve listens intently as he speaks, occasionally responding with a short hum to indicate he’s still listening. When Bucky finally opens the book, Steve settles in closer so he can see the words on the page, too. Bucky lifts an arm and puts it around Steve, who settles in even closer until he’s using the older man’s chest as a pillow, pressing his cheek on it so he can both see the words on the page and hear Bucky’s heart beating. 

Bucky reads to him until his throat is too dry to read any longer. They find a good place to stop and Bucky places his bookmark back in the book. Doing so means he has to remove his arm from Steve, who lets out a high pitched whine the second Bucky pulls his arm away. Bucky chuckles when he hears the noise and puts his arm back around Steve once he’s placed the book back on his nightstand. 

They lie together quietly, their syncing breaths serving as the only noise in the room. 

Until Steve has another coughing fit. 

This one makes him splutter for air, makes him sit upright so he can really let it out without feeling like he’s suffocating. Bucky gets up and walks to Steve’s side of the bed to hand him the still-full glass of water on his nightstand. He lightly pats Steve’s back as he waits for him to recover. The pats turn into gentle, circular rubs once Steve catches his breath and accepts the glass. 

“Think we have to wait a little longer before we can give you that medicine...but I’m sure it’ll fix you right up,” Bucky ignores the sour face Steve makes as the mention of _medicine_ , probably the one thing he hates more than bullies. “Hey, you have to take it. That cough sounds awful.” 

Steve furrows his eyebrows and pouts a little, but he doesn’t try to argue. Deep down, he knows Bucky is right. 

——  
Steve doesn’t know how else to pass the time, considering leaving the house when it’s snowing and he has pneumonia isn’t the best idea, so he sits in the living room listening to the radio. He listens intently to the shows and news they broadcast, switching the channel whenever he gets bored. When he finds a station playing music, he grabs his sketchbook and draws whatever comes to mind: the streets of Brooklyn caked in snow, the woman and child he saw walking home from a bakery, and (of course) one of Bucky—who is sat across from him, reading the paper. 

At some point, Bucky gets up and tells Steve he’s fixing dinner, and it should be ready soon. Before he leaves the room, he makes sure to put his hands on his hips and tell Steve, with a stern look on his face, that he needs to take his medicine now. Steve nods and mumbles a halfhearted promise to take the medicine under his breath as he continues to draw in his sketchbook. The older man continues to stare at him until he realizes this is only an uphill battle. He drops his hands from his hips and walks to the kitchen. 

He’s in the middle of cooking when an idea hits him—Steve is clearly too stubborn to take his medicine, but what if there’s a way for him to take it as advised without even knowing? 

With that thought, he turns the stove down so he can walk away without burning the apartment down. He goes to the bedroom, where Steve’s pills are sat in an unopened container. He grabs a discarded sketch paper out of the trash bin and then goes to the closet to grab the hammer he keeps in his toolbox on the shelf. 

He goes back to the kitchen, places the paper on the counter, puts the pill on it, and folds the paper so the pill is inside of it. Just as he’s picking up the hammer to smash the pill, he realizes that he should probably finish cooking and fix their plates first, to make it easier for him to pour it right into Steve’s food. 

He fixes Steve’s plate and pours the medicine into the sauce, making sure to mix it up a little so the white powder isn’t visible. He rushes to throw the paper away and return the hammer to the toolbox. Steve is already in the kitchen when he returns, grabbing their plates and silverware and carrying it to the table. 

Bucky watches Steve closely as he takes his first bite, hoping he won’t somehow know what Bucky’s done. Fortunately, he continues to eat, seemingly completely oblivious. 

He feels a little guilty about it, like he’s done something immoral by tricking Steve. But he did it for a good reason—Steve wasn’t going to take those pills, he’s just too stubborn. It’s difficult to shake the feeling that he’s done something wrong, but it’ll all be worth it once Steve recovers. 

“Stop staring at me, creep,” Steve laughs as he shoves another forkful in his mouth.  
——  
Some days it seems like Steve will never recover. He still shakes with the force of coughs powerful enough to bring out a lung. Blood still splatters on the arm he used to cover those coughs. 

It makes Bucky hesitant to leave his side to go to work, but he has to leave so he can support the both of them. Steve has to nearly shove him out the apartment each morning with promises of “I’ll be fine, Buck,” in his raspy voice. 

So Bucky goes to work each morning, and gets yelled at by his boss and colleagues for being so distracted, and then he rushes home and feels the weight leave his shoulders when he sees that Steve is okay. 

On Wednesday, though, the weight doesn’t leave his shoulders. 

His chest constricts when he sees Steve lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He looks pale, sweaty, and delirious—he can hardly lift his head or open his eyes to look at Bucky, much less greet him. 

Bucky rushes to his side, not even caring to take off his coat and scarf, and helps Steve sit up. He’s on his knees, next to Steve, now, has a hand on his lower back to keep him sitting up. Now that he’s close, he can hear that Steve’s breathing is somehow even raspier than it was before. 

“Steve? Steve, can you hear me?” Bucky is completely panicked now, doesn’t even try to hide it from Steve like he usually would. 

Steve weakly grunts in response, and although it isn’t much of a relief, Bucky is still grateful for it. 

“Did you fall?” 

“Couldn’t make it...” he trails off, but Bucky knows what he means. He couldn’t make it to the couch, where he always waits for Bucky to come home. 

“I’m gonna—I’ll fix it, I swear it Steve. You’ll be okay. Just stay with me, okay? To the end of the line, right?” He sounds absolutely hysterical now. If he wasn’t so panicked, he’d be embarrassed by the tremble in his voice and the shakiness of his hands. 

He doesn’t know how to fix this. He thought Steve was getting better, had thought that maybe pneumonia wasn’t actually so bad—just a nasty little cold Steve could easily win the fight against. He’s not so sure of that now. 

Bucky knows he needs to recollect himself, gather up the little strength he has left and get Steve _help_ , so he stands and tries to let go of Steve’s hand, wants to rush to the phone so someone can help. 

Steve’s grasp tightens. He ignores Bucky’s incoherent babbles about the phone and getting help. “‘M cold,” Steve tells him. 

“You’re hot,” Bucky answers, a hand gently placed on his forehead. 

Steve shakes his head, grasps the hand in his tighter. “Cold.” 

Bucky swears under his breath, but gives in anyway. If Steve cares more about how cold he is than how sick he is, then so be it. Bucky always takes care of him. 

“Wanna go to bed or the couch?” 

“Wanna stay here.” 

“Okay. Let’s get you a blanket though,” Bucky’s voice is steady now, free of the panic it had held only a few moments ago. He goes to the couch and grabs a blanket, draping it over Steve’s shoulders before he rejoins him on the floor. He wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulder and brings him in close. Steve’s head is on Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky brings his head down so his cheek rests on the top of Steve’s head. In his head, he prays to whomever or whatever will listen: let Steve be safe and healthy and strong. Today, tomorrow, and forever. 

Huddled together on the floor, Steve’s frail little body enveloped in Bucky’s sturdy one. What a sight they must make. 

——  
For the first time in a while, Bucky cries that night. 

Steve has just drifted into a heavy sleep, brought on by Bucky’s smooth voice reading a chapter of his book aloud. Bucky is still sitting in the chair he had pulled up to the bed—they’d made a compromise: Bucky would stay close and read to him until he fell asleep, but he wasn’t going to lie in bed with Steve and try to fall asleep. Not yet, anyway. Bucky knew he’d be too restless to lie down. He was right. 

When he notices Steve has drifted off, he quietly closes the book and, with a heavy sigh, takes in the stillness of the room. A dark thought surfaces from the deepest crevice of his brain: _this is how quiet it’ll be if Steve loses this fight._

That thought pushes him right over the edge he’d been teetering over since Steve was diagnosed. 

The tears are flowing before he even realizes it. They keep coming and coming, until the sadness grips Bucky’s body and he has to cover his mouth with a hand to keep from waking Steve with his sobs. Between work and acting as a nurse, Bucky hasn’t had time to really _feel._ Now that he’s been shaken up by the sight of Steve collapsed on the floor, his body is releasing everything he’s been holding in. 

Maybe this is his breaking point. Maybe this is the part where he just surrenders and hands his life over to fate. If fate wants to rip Steve out of his hands, there’s nothing either one of them can do about it. 

Steve shifts a little in bed, the noise it makes causing Bucky to look at him again. That’s what makes Bucky wipe the tears off his face and try to collect himself. 

Steve is still here. Still alive, still fighting like all hell to push through. If he hasn’t given up, why should Bucky? He shouldn’t. He has to keep fighting, too. 

——  
Steve is still asleep when Bucky calls the doctor before he leaves for work. The doctor agrees to give Steve a stronger medicine, tells Bucky that he can pick it up on his way home from work. The doctor’s reassurances that this medicine is very strong make Bucky feel hopeful. He’s already impatient to get the workday over with. 

The day drags on for too long, rendering Bucky practically useless at work since he’s so distracted. He’s filled his colleagues in on the situation at home, and fortunately, they’re quite sympathetic and try not to lose their patience with him. 

He practically runs home the second his shift ends, so desperate to get back to Steve he nearly forgets to pick up the medicine. _Nearly._ With the medicine in hand, he feels much more hopeful than he did the day before. He’s hopeful that Steve will make it through this, like he always does, despite how horrible he had looked and felt yesterday. 

When he enters their apartment, he’s relieved to see that Steve made it to the couch today. He still looks terribly sickly, but seeing him sprawled out on the floor again was really all Bucky could ask for. 

Steve lights up when he sees Bucky. He scrambles to sit up on the couch, pulling his legs in so Bucky can have room to sit. Bucky accepts the silent invitation once he’s tugged off his gloves and coat. 

“What’s that?” Steve asks, seeing the little baggie in Bucky’s hands. 

“Picked up some new medicine for you. Stronger, apparently.” 

“Ah, more medicine for you to hide in my food,” he says it casually, but it makes Bucky freeze. He’s been caught. “You thought I didn’t know? Hammers are very loud.” 

“Oh. I guess you’re right,” Bucky chuckles, a lot calmer now that he knows Steve isn’t angry with him. 

Steve shrugs. “Thought it was awfully sweet of you,” he stretches his legs out so they’re on Bucky’s lap. He doesn’t even flinch when it happens, just places one big hand atop a lithe leg, thumb lightly rubbing in circles. 

They let the silence speak for themselves for a while. Steve tries not to focus on how quickly his heart is beating. Bucky tries not to think too much of the legs on his lap. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky spots the medicine on the cushion next to him. That’s when he pats Steve’s leg, telling him, “come on, gotta see if these work.” 

“Aw, not gonna hide it from me anymore?” 

“Well, I assume yesterday’s scene has made you more willing to take your medicine so you can get better. Right?” 

Steve hates that he had to mention it like that. It was scary for him, too, and he also feels a bit embarrassed by that moment of what he considers _weakness._ Steve doesn’t want people to think he’s weak. That’s why he’s so stubborn, that’s why he’s always getting into fights, that’s why he didn’t want to take his medicine in the first place. Because he’s not _weak._

“‘M not gonna think you’re weak for taking some pills,” Bucky starts, making Steve wonder if he’d gone on his rant out loud, “I’ll think you’re very smart and strong for wanting to get better. For fighting this sickness just like you always do,” his thumb is rubbing light circles on Steve’s leg as he says it, and it makes Steve feel like he’s left his body and gone somewhere more pleasant. 

He finds himself grabbing the pills from Bucky, doesn’t even wait for him to get him a glass of water before Steve is swallowing a pill down. 

“I feel better already,” Steve smiles at Bucky as he hands the container of pills back to him. 

“That’s impossible, but okay.” 

But Steve really does feel better. He knows he’s not actually cured yet—it’ll catch back up to him later—but his mood is infinitely better now that Bucky is home again, now that he’s accepting the things he thought made him weak, now that he actually feels alive again. 

He doesn’t want to put that into words, though, so he nudges Bucky’s thigh with a sock-covered foot and asks him to tell him about his day. Just to keep Bucky talking. 

They find themselves in the same position once they’ve eaten dinner. The sun has set and they’ve migrated back to the couch, feeling that lull that tends to kick in in the late evening. 

“It’s always so cold in here,” Steve pouts, obviously trying to give Bucky a hint. 

Bucky understands what Steve is asking for right away. “You want a hot cocoa?” 

“With marshmallows?” 

“Of course,” Bucky pats Steve’s legs, signaling for him to move them so Bucky can get up. Steve does, making sure to sweetly thank Bucky as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

Bucky returns with two mugs filled to the brim, with way too many marshmallows already starting to dissolve in the hot drink. Steve eagerly accepts the treat, already gulping it down as Bucky reclaims his seat and pulls Steve’s legs back onto his lap.

“Good?” 

Steve hums into the mug, still busy gulping down the hot cocoa even though Bucky knows it’s way too hot for that, knows Steve will be complaining about his tongue hurting until Bucky holds an ice cube on it to soothe the burn. 

And that’s exactly what happens the second Steve sets the empty mug down on the table. Bucky wouldn’t trade it for anything, not even for a raise at work or a big house or fancy new car. 

——  
Steve is getting better with each passing day. It makes Bucky beyond grateful for whatever great force decided that this sickness wouldn’t kill Steve—maybe it’s a force in the universe, maybe it’s fate deciding that their story doesn’t end like this, maybe it’s the doctor who seems to have a real advantage with new medications Bucky has never heard of, maybe it’s the tears Bucky spilled on their mattress—a moment of vulnerability to change the curse, or maybe it’s little Steve’s own stubborn spirit. Whatever it is, Bucky is grateful for it. 

The first sign that better days are ahead comes on Monday, only five days after the lowest point. It’s the day that Steve coughs and no blood comes up with it. Steve’s breathing isn’t quite as raspy now, either, and he doesn’t struggle to breathe as much. Bucky tries not to get too excited about it, afraid he’ll jinx it and Steve’s health will drop right back down to where it was on Wednesday, but he feels so hopeful. He doesn’t dread having to leave for work that morning, and he’s actually able to focus on the tasks at hand once he’s at work. Happier times are ahead.

The week goes on with much of the same routine: Bucky checks on Steve before he leaves for work, Steve’s symptoms clearly show he’s recovering, Bucky works his ass off down at the docks, comes home relieved to see Steve _not on the floor_ , they eat dinner together, Steve takes his medicine on his own (“like a big boy,” Bucky teases), they sit on the couch together (Steve’s legs always draped over Bucky’s lap, his new favorite position), and they read Bucky’s book together before they go to sleep. It’s a good routine, one that both Bucky and Steve have come to love. 

The routine isn’t broken until Saturday, when Bucky comes home to find Steve sitting on the floor in the living room, drawing in his sketchbook. That’s fine, that’s _good,_ it just throws Bucky off for a second because Steve always lies on the couch when he’s sick and awaiting Bucky’s return. But Steve looks energetic, doesn’t look sick in the slightest, and he’s clearly made the choice to sit on the floor instead of on the couch or in a chair. It’s a familiar scene to Bucky, one that greeted him often before Steve had gotten sick. 

Which tells Bucky that Steve is _okay,_ doesn’t need Bucky playing nurse or concerned housewife anymore. It’s a relief to Bucky, of course it is, but it also feels like a little jab in the gut. He likes taking care of Steve, likes that being sick makes him a little clingy. So maybe he’s a little worried that he’ll lose that sense of intimate domesticity he’d gotten so used to. Who could blame him? He’s never felt like this before, not really. He’s not used to wanting someone to cling to him or wanting to take care of someone like this. He’s never had dainty legs rest atop his thighs, or a head on his chest just to hear the rumble of his voice as he reads. He doesn’t want to think about what that might mean. 

“Buck, you’re home,” Steve rushes over to give him a hug when he sees him. 

“Hey! I can tell you’re feeling better.” 

“I am,” Steve responds, grabbing his wrist and leading him to the couch. “Thanks to you.” 

“Well—“

“Hush. You helped me a lot. Thank you. Seriously,” Steve stops leading Bucky so he can turn and look him in his eyes, maintaining intense but somehow still gentle eye contact. This may be the most serious they’ve been in a while. 

Bucky cups Steve’s cheeks, noting the contrast between his big, calloused hands and Steve’s soft, youthful face. The gentle look in his eyes encourages Bucky to slowly lean forward, eyes still open so he can make sure he isn’t crossing a line he shouldn’t be. Steve closes his eyes and closes the distance between them. 

The kiss ends too soon, which has Bucky pulling Steve in for another, trying not to smile too much when he hears the giggle leave Steve’s throat as it happens. 

He presses his forehead against Steve’s when they break apart. “Think I’m in love with you,” Bucky whispers. 

“I know. I love you,” Steve whispers back.

Bucky wants to be mad at himself for waiting so long to say it, for not saying it when he first felt it or that night he was afraid Steve would die. But it doesn’t matter now, because Steve is right here, face cupped in Bucky’s palms, and he said it. And Steve said it back. And it’s perfect, possibly too good to be true. He suspects that this is a dream he’ll wake up from soon, but he doesn’t wake up. He’s not asleep, this is real life. This is the fate that was pushed into his palms by some miracle created by some greater good. He won’t question what he’s done to deserve this. 

And that’s what plays in the back of his mind that night, when he and Steve are tucked in bed together as Bucky reads to him. Steve runs a hand through the bit of chest hair peeking out of Bucky’s shirt, presses a few kisses there, too, until Bucky closes the book and gives him a goodnight kiss. 

They hold one another tight, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky feels at peace, and doesn’t wish to change a thing about his life. He doesn’t need money, or a house, or a car, or anything else a man his age might wish for. He just needs Steve. Something tells him that Steve feels the same way.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe the real pneumonia was the repressed sexuality we shared along the way...cuddling is not gay if you keep your socks on!!!


End file.
